


Demons Shouldn’t be in Churches

by ThatDudeNoah



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is Raphael, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Nazis, Pining, Reverse Omens au, Role Reversal, Unconfessed Love, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDudeNoah/pseuds/ThatDudeNoah
Summary: Anthony shakes his head. His friend shouldn't be here. Not only because of the deal, but because Azirafell was being hurt by being there—he was a demon standing on consecrated ground, after all. "What are you doing here, fiend?" he hisses.Azirafell glares at him with all four of his pupils, the blue in his eyes glimmering slightly. "Saving you."





	Demons Shouldn’t be in Churches

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off [this](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my) tumblr post! The artist is awesome, so please check out their posts!

Sirens wailed as Anthony stepped into the church. He held the herbs carefully in one hand, papers and recipes in the other.

"Mr. Crowley," one of the men at the front said—Mr. Golzier, Anthony believes. "Right on time."

"Mr. Harmony, Mr. Glozier," Anthony said, tipping his head forward in greeting. Now, angels shouldn't make deals with Nazis. Archangels especially, Anthony—better known in heaven as Raphael—is sure. But he had a plan. There was a British agent somewhere in that church, gun in her hand, ready to double cross the two evil men in front of him.

"You have the recipes for the Fuehrer?" the other man, Mr. Harmony, asks.

Anthony nods. "Of course." He places both the herbs and the papers on the table between him and the Nazis, unable to resist a smile. "Everything you ordered, right there." It wasn't difficult to get any of what they had requested, and some of it Anthony didn't even have to look for, already being in his home.

The two men looked through it all, ensuring it was there. Some of the recipes were for healing, while others were for, well, the opposite of that. But they were all there, as well as the herbs that went into the recipes.

"These recipes," Golzier says, looking satisfied, "will be in Berlin by the end of the week. The Fuehrer will be most grateful."

Except Anthony is sure they wouldn’t be going anywhere. He just has to wait for the right moment to reveal the double cross.

"You have been exceedingly helpful, Mr. Crowley," Harmony says. He hears a gun cock as the man turns around, and suddenly Anthony is staring down the barrel of it. But he isn't afraid, no. He smiles even more.

"Such a pity you must be eliminated," Golzier says. "But take heart. Just another death in the Blitz."

Anthony puts has hand to his heart, mock offended. "I thought we were pals," he says over dramatically. "This isn't very nice."

"You do not appear worried, my friend."

The cocking of another gun echoes through the church, and Anthony smirks as a woman emerges from the dark. "He's not worried," she says.

Harmony looks at her. "Who is she?"

"Oh, her? She, my dear old Nazi friends, is Captain Rose Montgomery from British Military Intelligence." Anthony smiles triumphantly as Rose steps closer and the men raise their hands. He rocks back on his heels, clasping his hands behind his back. “She is the reason that none of those recipes will be going anywhere. And neither will you. You will be spending the rest of your time behind bars."

"Thank you for the introduction," Rose tells him.

"We know all about you," Anthony continues. "In fact, this whole church is surrounded by British agents, ready to lock you up. She recruited me, actually. Knew I would be able to easily double cross you."

"Yes, about that—" Rose tried to interrupt, but Anthony kept talking.

"Wasn’t difficult, even. You two never saw it coming. Enough about that, anyway. Let's get the boys in, shall we? Finally put these two behind bars? Come in!" he calls out. "Round 'em up!"

But nobody comes.

Anthony feels the hope he had slowly melting away the longer the church stayed empty. He almost didn't want to ask the next questions that came out of his mouth. "Um, Rose? Your people? Are they coming?"

Harmony snickers, an ugly smile spreading on his face as he lowers his hands. "We are already here."

"Allow me," Golzier says, taking a step forward, "to introduce Fraulein Greta Kleinschmidt."

Rose—or, Greta, technically—turns the gun on to Anthony. Anthony rolls his eyes, groaning quietly. God, he should've expected it. These were Nazis, for Christ's sake, he should've assumed they had a plan.

"She works with us," Golzier finishes. He turns to Greta and says something to her in German. But Anthony had picked up a bit, and understood every word they said. "_You fooled the shithead gardener_," he says proudly. "_Good job, darling_."

Greta smiles at him. "_It wasn't hard, darling,_" she replies. "_He's very gullible_."

"Now," Golzier says, in English this time, "where were we? Oh, yes. Killing you."

Anthony groans, louder this time. "But the paperwork," he complains. He can't actually die, but his body? It can. And, god, Heaven would give him shit if that happens. The Archangel Raphael, not even able to take care of a body. He can't handle that.

But the door opens, and all heads snap that direction. The figure breathes as if they're in pain, they're steps a bit jagged.

"Azirafell?" Anthony asks.

Azirafell doesn't walk too far into the church, just far enough that he's visible and can be heard. He doesn't need to walk any farther.

Anthony shakes his head. His friend shouldn't be here. Not only because of the deal, but because Azirafell was being hurt by being there—he was a demon standing on consecrated ground, after all. "What are you doing here, fiend?" he hisses.

Azirafell glares at him with all four of his pupils, the blue in his eyes glimmering slightly. "Saving you."

Anthony opens his mouth to speak, but doesn't get anything out before Azirafell is speaking again. "Now, let's cut the chit chat. Don't want to be here any longer than I have to. But, a bomb is going to drop on this church in about a minute, so I do suggest you start running in hopes that you don't die. You won't enjoy it if that happens."

The three Nazi spies don't even get a chance to ask any questions about the new guest in the church, instead focusing on the threat. "You expect us to believe that?" Golzier asks. "The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.

"Yes, they're supposed to." Azirafell shrugs then, pointing to the sky. "It'll take a miracle—" he looks at Anthony intently, "—for me and my friend to survive this."

They can hear a whistle in the air above them as something drops down, the sounds of explosions around them. And, sure enough, within a few seconds, a bomb destroys the church.

In the rubble, Anthony and Azirafell stand alone. Azirafell's feet are smoldering slightly, not from the bomb but from standing in the church for so long.

"Azirafell, are you okay?" Anthony asks, concern clear in his voice.

He shrugs it off. He wants to howl with how much pain he's in, but he doesn't say that. Instead he says, "I'll be fine. Not as if you could do anything about it, anyway."

Except, Anthony can. "Just stand still," he tells Azirafell. He waves his hand over his friend's smoldering feet, and suddenly they're healed.

Azirafell closes his eyes, then opens them again, trying to figure out how that had happened. He shouldn’t have been able to be healed. Yes, angelic power and all that, but Azirafell was a demon, and Anthony was an angel. The two energies should’ve cancelled one another out. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Anthony asks. He knows what Azirafell is talking about, but he doesn’t want to draw any attention to it.

"Heal me."

"Well, I am an angel. It's what we do."

"But how does divine magic work on a demon? It—It shouldn't be possible, Anthony." Unless Anthony was much more powerful than Azirafell realized, his feet should still be smoking.

Anthony turns away, trying not to look Azirafell in his eyes. He is yet to reveal to him his true identity, and doesn't feel like doing so now. He doesn't want to scare Azirafell off, doesn't want to lose his best friend. And the man he loves. So, instead, he avoids the question. "Oh, Christ!” he exclaims, half to change topic, half because he had an actual realization. “The herbs! The recipes! They're gone forever, blown away."

Azirafell reaches down, though, and grabs them from a stiff and dead hand. Not a single leaf out of place, and not a step missing on any of the recipes. "Little miracle of my own," he says, handing them to Anthony.

And, god, Anthony wishes he could tell Azirafell everything. His true identity, his true feelings, all of it. Because this demon, this supposedly evil creature, helps him just because he wants to. And even though some other people might brush off the herbs, Azirafell understands what they mean to Crowley.

But Anthony doesn't want to scare his friend off. And he doesn't want his feelings to go unrequited. So he doesn't say any of that. Instead, when Azirafell turns to walk away, Anthony stops him and says, "Thank you. This was all very kind of you."

Azirafell waves it off, but when he turns away, he smiles widely.


End file.
